


afterglow

by cherryconke



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst? On Christmas? Not in my house, Christmas Party, Explicit Sexual Content, Horny needy Felix, Idiots in Love, Light Drinking, M/M, Making out in the Uber, Porn with Feelings, Sexual Tension, Soft sappy Sylvain, Teasing, making out in the bathroom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:09:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21942679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryconke/pseuds/cherryconke
Summary: I love you,Felix mumbles against him, tugging lightly on Sylvain’s hair, licking deeper into his mouth, and Sylvain is already too far gone under Felix’s spell to ever break it, so he just kisses him back, sipping the breathy sigh straight from Felix’s mouth, soothing against the moonshine burn.I love you,Felix repeats, and Sylvain must have died and gone to heaven because he rarely gets him like this, tender and open, let alone in public; so he really can’t be at fault when he deepens the kiss, cradling the curve of Felix’s jaw, saccharine where their lips meld together.I love you, Syl–
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 11
Kudos: 343





	afterglow

**Author's Note:**

> merry christmas + happy holidays! 
> 
> since i am _extremely_ extra, i made a [companion playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/13wal7g7K5ee7ggMfWvnRc) for the fic.
> 
> as always, thanks to [cha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akhikosanada/pseuds/akhikosanada) and [levii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leviicorpus) for being my sweet angel betas~

“More eggnog, Sylvie?”

Sylvain has one hand wrapped around a mug of something sharp and peppermint-flavored when Dorothea winks a wicked smile at him, leaning over Claude’s shoulder to refill his waning cup before topping the whole thing off with a tiny candy cane. 

“Thanks, Dottie. You’re a doll.” 

Dorothea only pauses in her pouring to smack his shoulder playfully before moving off towards the living room. Sylvain watches bemusedly as she makes her rounds, ever the perfect host, clearly in her element and loving every minute of it. The holiday party this year is a hit, just like it is every year, made possible by the combined unstoppable forces of Dorothea and Ingrid.

Ingrid and Ashe are quickly rabbit-holing about the logistics of a new fantasy show on HBO, some new series Sylvain has yet to watch. Sylvain’s gaze drifts, only to catch a steady gaze of amber from across the crowded apartment. Even after nearly four years of waking up every morning tangled in each other, Sylvain’s breath still stutters in his throat at the way Felix catches his eye sometimes, sharp and hungry, edging on a domestic sort of possessiveness Sylvain never knew could be so damn hot. 

His boyfriend is leaning up against the long slab of granite counter in Dorothea’s crowded kitchen, pale cheeks flushed a perfect peach from the small glass of whatever drink he’s been sipping on all night. They’d quickly been pulled in different directions upon arriving: Sylvain swept up in one of Dorothea’s squealing hugs before being sent off to help hang sparkly decor _(“You just have such a good eye for it, Sylvie!”)_ ; while Felix had been pulled into the kitchen with Dedue for one last taste-test of all the appetizers, protesting good-naturedly the whole time. 

Right now, Felix is surrounded by a wildfire of redheads, Annette grabbing onto one arm while Ferdie perches over both of them, all three _ooh-_ ing and _ahh-_ ing over pictures of Annette’s newly adopted cat, Biscuit. Felix’s laugh rings sharp as a bell in the air, and even though Sylvain is far enough away that he can barely hear it over the steady beat of Christmas tunes, his brain immediately recognizes the sound of familiarity and home. Felix’s eyes flick up to meet his for a brief instant, flashing him teeth with the slightest hint of deviousness before turning back to his friends, face aglow with the neon tint of Annette’s phone screen.

Sometimes, especially during little moments like these when his heart swells so full with fondness and affection he feels he might burst, Sylvain can’t believe his luck. To have stumbled through the painful years of growing up in a cold, unwelcoming home; to have battled through the confusing, twisted snarls of adolescence and the wilds of his early twenties; to have made it out relatively unscathed, with only a small pile of trauma to work through, surrounded by an almost alarming amount of love and support - how lucky he is.

The friends he’d met in his later years of college had quickly filled in the gaps in his heart left by a callous father and an absent mother. These same friends had showered Sylvain with the love and affection he had craved for so long: at first from his brother, but then from anyone who would spare him a night’s worth of attention between the sheets. It’s through everyone in this room that he’d met his best friend and the love of his life, the same sly, sharp-tongued man who’s still making eyes at him from across the room. 

The conversation ebbs and flows around Sylvain; there’s never a dull moment. On his left, Ingrid and Ashe have switched to enthusiastically debating the specific logistics of death by rollercoaster; on his right, Claude and Dimitri bicker flirtily over the results of their last chess game. Sylvain puts off jumping back into another conversation for the moment. He can’t help his eyes flicking back up towards the kitchen every couple of minutes, entranced by the fleeting looks Felix is giving him from across the party, pouty lips parted in a way that’s thoroughly distracting.

Time slips by in that watery way it tends to when Dorothea diligently keeps all their glasses filled, and soon enough Sylvain finds himself pressed into a short line of people in the hallway waiting for the washroom. Christmas lights twinkle overhead, dimly lighting the cramped hallway. Sylvain winds up sandwiched between one of Dorothea’s _In The Heights_ posters and a slender frame he’d know anywhere.

“My love,” Sylvain murmurs into the nape of Felix’s neck, pressing a small kiss there as he wraps his arms around him. Felix follows easily, their bodies melding together in a familiar curve as he goes lax against the cage of Sylvain’s chest. Sylvain loves him like this: comfortably at ease, surrounded by their closest friends, his bright edge of sarcastic humor sparkling like the sharpest knife; but then again, Sylvain loves him through all his moods, from prickly to soft, and everything in between.

He sings into Felix’s ear, hum downshifted to a low purr. “Enjoying the party?”

Sylvain can almost hear the tiny hint of a grin through Felix’s scoff. He immediately twists in Sylvain’s arms, turning to hook one arm around the nape of his neck, thumbing at the locks of unruly hair there. Sylvain’slet it grow it out a bit, turning shaggy and rugged, at Felix’s request. (Well, not really a request, more of a compliment that had stroked Sylvain’s ego in all the right ways, a conversation that simply went: _“Your hair’s getting long... I like it.”_ ) 

“You smell like eggnog,” Felix accuses Sylvain, as he turns his face up towards him, always so suspicious of anything that doesn’t have a Scoville rating of approximately one-billion. Sylvain just chuckles, bringing a hand up to push the long, messy braid away from Felix’s neck, bending low to sneak a kiss in behind his ear, fleetingly soft and affectionate. 

“And _you_ smell like… _shit,_ what _is_ that stuff?” 

Felix sloshes his half-empty glass in his one free hand, mouth curling into a smug grin. Sylvain can’t help his hands from wandering down to bracket the jut of Felix’s hips, smoothing a thumb over the elastic band of his leggings. 

“Dedue’s apple pie moonshine.”

Felix tilts the glass towards him, and _God_ if Sylvain isn’t just the biggest sucker on the planet, because he doesn’t even hesitate to take a sip from the offered cup, gulping and promptly wincing at the harsh burn of alcohol and cinnamon as it goes down. Felix’s eyes go utterly molten with amused affection as he watches Sylvain cough and splutter. 

“Christ, Fe, that’s fucking _hot_ –”

He’s cut off before he can get too far by the press of Felix’s lips onto his own, soft and insistent. _I love you,_ Felix mumbles against them, tugging lightly on Sylvain’s hair, licking deeper into his mouth, and Sylvain is already too far gone under Felix’s spell to ever break it, so he just kisses him back, sipping the breathy sigh straight from Felix’s mouth, soothing against the moonshine burn. _I love you,_ Felix repeats, and Sylvain must have died and gone to heaven because he rarely gets him like this, tender and open, let alone in public; so he really can’t be at fault when he deepens the kiss, cradling the curve of Felix’s jaw, saccharine where their lips meld together. _I love you, Syl–_

The sound of the bathroom door opening is punctuated by a distinct sound of fond disgust, one Sylvain has heard a million times. Ingrid rolls her eyes as she passes them, balancing her drink precariously as she makes her way back to the muted roar of the party.

“Ugh, guys. Get a room.” 

“Gladly.” Sylvain only has time to flash her a grin and a quick wink before he’s being tugged sharply into the bathroom, Felix’s thumbs snatching at the pulse of his wrists to pluck him straight from the hallway and push him up against the inside of the bathroom door. 

_“Shit, Fe–”_ Sylvain’s brain melts into a puddle of incoherent thoughts and half-formed protests as Felix’s drink spills across the bathroom counter, sticky with the sharp scent of cinnamon and nutmeg and spice; but more importantly, _most_ importantly, is Felix: Felix, all over him with a hot trail of lips and teeth and tongue and touch; Felix, who’s been making eyes at him all night long to the point where Sylvain’s started to feel a little crazy, a little rough-wild around the edges with love; Felix, so desperate for him it blurs the world into something fuzzy and warm, rose-colored with hopeless adoration and endless exhales of want and utter need.

“Sylv _aaaain,”_ Felix whines against his neck, teething aching little bruises into the spatter of freckles and moles there. Insistent fingers pull at the hem of his sweater, pushing it up and away before Felix’s hands are all over him, roaming wild paths over his stomach and hips and back. Felix’s gasps aren’t very loud, but they still echo off the tiles of the tiny bathroom, overpowering the muffled rhythmic plink of ivory keys and harp strings, Christmas songs still faintly audible on the other side of the door. 

“Shh, love, you gotta quiet down–”

Felix pulls back, pupils blown huge and clouded with lust, lips slick and kiss-bitten. Sylvain feels a little weak in the knees, like he’s been knocked out and he’s waking up halfway through a fantastic dream. If he’s being honest, Felix makes him feel like this most days, but there’s something wild and hungry in his eyes tonight that lights a fire in Sylvain’s bones; a secret he can hardly stand to keep.

A hand dips down to the elastic of Sylvain’s briefs, fingers teasing where they move along the little trail of fuzz beneath his belly button, threatening to go further before pulling back and repeating the same taunting song-and-dance all over again. It’s more than enough for Sylvain to grow hard and needy for friction, bucking gently into the delicious press of fingertips into skin. 

“I want you, Syl.”

“You too, sweet,” Sylvain hums in agreement as he spreads his hands to span the width of each slim thigh before he pulls hard and hoists Felix up. Felix’s body goes lax and drippy in his grip, arms looping around Sylvain’s neck as they lose themselves in another kiss, then another, then another. In a fumbling rush, Felix is now the one shoved up against the bathroom door, Sylvain caging him in, wood creaking ominously under their combined weight. 

“P–please–”

Felix’s plea breaks off into a little cry as Sylvain grinds his hips up into his, the angle off and imperfect but good enough; good enough to pull a moan from each of them, Sylvain’s low tenor harmonizing with Felix’s sharp whimper; good enough to chase that feeling, teeth knocking, spit swapping, suddenly messy and desperate for each other. 

One of Felix’s hands snakes around to grab his, guiding it down and around the stretch of leggings covering his perfect, peach-shaped ass. Sylvain shifts his grip, pinning Felix to the door with his hips as his fingers hit an unfamiliarly firm object, thick and plasticky and distinctly heart-shaped. 

Sylvain nearly drops Felix flat on his ass when he realizes exactly what it is. An awed smile unfurls across his face as he presses his nose down into the notch of Felix’s shoulder, hot and giddy and in love. “Fuck, Fe, this whole time…?”

“Yes, _yes.”_ Sylvain doesn’t know if Felix is answering his question or responding to the way he’s twisting the pad of his thumb up into the plug, applying firm pressure to push it further into Felix’s body. The fingertips of Sylvain’s other hand, the one supporting Felix against the door, curl into the meat of his ass through those sinfully tight leggings. 

_“Felix,”_ he breathes out, blown away and incredibly turned on and _completely_ forgetting where they are, when a sharp knock thrums jarringly through the door, rattling his teeth. Felix’s back slips a little further down as Sylvain fumbles for a better grip against the rhythm of angry knuckles.

It’s really a shame that they’re surrounded by all their closest friends, and not at some random party where they could both just say _fuck it_ and screw in the apartment’s single bathroom; but the look in Felix’s eyes mirrors his own, one of love and desperation mixed with a reluctant, begrudging loyalty towards their friends. Sylvain’s heart sinks in his chest as he remembers exactly how far they are from leaving the party – the gift exchange hasn’t even started yet – and now he has the deadly combination of a throbbing hard-on and an extremely needy Felix on his hands.

Sylvain slowly sets a wobbly Felix on his feet, pressing fleeting kisses over the bridge of his nose, the cupid’s bow of his lips, the curves of his cheekbones. Felix huffs and squirms, clearly hard in his leggings, but Sylvain just soothes both thumbs over the rounds of his cheeks, slow and soft. He ignores the pounding on the door for just a few seconds longer, pecking kiss after kiss onto Felix’s face, furious passion dialed back to something steadier, sweeter, gentler. 

“Can you be good for me, baby? Can you wait a little bit longer?” Sylvain holds Felix’s face in one hand while he smooths down his mussed braid with the other. 

_“Syl—”_

“Please? For me?” Felix is still needy, eyes liquid pools of desire when he looks back up at Sylvain, wandering hands still roaming over Sylvain’s hips and thighs, blunt nails scratching lightly against his denim jeans. 

“Just ‘til the gift exchange, then we can leave. And I’ll take such good care of you tonight, Fe.” Sylvain leans in to hum into his ear, nipping at the lobe. Based on the little whine that floats back and the fingers pressing into the curve of his ass, Felix is not convinced yet. “I– fuck, Fe– I’ll take you apart so slow, gonna– gonna make it so good for you,” Sylvain stutters out, tongue slipping as Felix pinches his ass _hard_ , hands finally slowing to a standstill at the small of his back.

Sylvain pulls back, searching Felix’s flushed face for a sign, waiting for that pouty little nod, before he smooths out their clothes and hair one last time. He presses a soft kiss to the tip of Felix’s nose, takes a deep breath, and desperately tries to think of the least sexy thing he can come up with, which absolutely, definitely does _not_ include his boyfriend or the toy currently inside him.

When they exit the bathroom, Felix is blushing furiously up to his ears, refusing to make eye contact with anyone in the crowded hallway. Sylvain just winks at an irritated-looking Hilda, happy to take the blame for the antics that their friends have come to know them for, always assuming Sylvain is the instigator, never guessing Felix would be the one in their relationship to try and ravage him in Dorothea’s bathroom.

How exactly his life has led up to this moment – of ducking out of the hallway to a chorus of snickers and rolled eyes, Felix’s face burning prickly heat into his chest, one arm looped around the love of his life – Sylvain isn’t really sure, but he’s never really been the type to question a good thing.

— 

Someway, somehow, they make it through the gift exchange.

Felix is perched and squirming on his lap the whole time, Sylvain overly aware of where their bodies meet and the press of the plug into his knee. It’s on his mind as Annette squeals over the waffle-maker Ashe gifts her; he can’t stop thinking about it when Felix unwraps a hand-mixed spice set from Dedue; he feels it shift when Felix slings his arm around his shoulder to watch him open his gift, a brand-new strategy board game from Claude. 

Once the last gift has been unwrapped, the party quickly escalates into typical chaos, the way most gatherings like these do – Dorothea and Dedue make the rounds with more moonshine while everyone shifts throughout the room, grabbing snacks and refilling cups and gushing about one another’s gifts. Sylvain is content to stay curled up in his corner of the couch, Felix sinking back into his lap even further. They sit quietly, happy to watch the party unfold in each other’s company, Felix’s knees drawn up to his chest, his head tucked neatly under Sylvain’s chin.

Their frantic need from earlier has cooled from a frothing boil to a low simmer, and Sylvain finds himself feeling soft and sappy, humming along to the muted tones of a particularly catchy song playing staticy on the speakers, idly toying with a loose strand that has escaped from Felix’s braid. Felix turns further into him, burrowing nose into neck, cinnamon breath washing hot across his clavicle. 

“Wanna get out of here?”

Felix nods, soft and slow, tipping his chin up to gaze at Sylvain. The look in his eyes as he meets Sylvain’s gaze is nothing less than utter affection, so vast Sylvain feels like he could drown in it and die happy. He leans down for a brief kiss, catching Felix’s lips as he squirms against him, and when they pull away, Felix’s expression has shifted from soft and open to something sharper, all-knowing, with a hint of deviance as he shifts in his lap, nestling the hard silicone heart further into Sylvain’s thigh.

“Yes, please.”

The party has deteriorated into drunken oblivion when Felix pulls him off the couch, so Sylvain doesn’t feel too bad when he’s led straight to the coat closet, forgoing a lengthy round of goodbyes – they’ll probably see everyone at brunch tomorrow anyway, as per tradition. Felix pulls Sylvain’s fleece-lined denim jacket out of the closet and slips it over his shoulders; Sylvain looks on with a mix of amusement and fondness at the sight of Felix swimming in the sleeves, high collar coming up to brush against his chin.

“What? Don’t look at me like that, it’s freezing outside.” 

“Yes, dear,” Sylvain murmurs fondly as he pulls out his phone to call a cab and Felix wriggles into his orbit again, pressing himself against his back, brushing teasing trails over his hip bones. He can feel Felix’s cock rubbing against the underside of his ass, slowly turning into a low grind, forehead planted firmly between his shoulder blades. 

When they finally fall into the backseat of the cab, Felix’s pupils are blown wide, amber eyes melted down to a hot copper that Sylvain feels like he’s close to burning himself on, arousal spiking as Felix pushes his way onto his lap, their limbs a flurried tangle of elbows and knees knocking. “I love you,” Felix whispers against his lips again, fisting his palms into the knit of Sylvain’s sweater, fingertips pressing the weight of love into the tops of his shoulders. 

“You’re so sappy tonight,” Sylvain teases, slipping his tongue into Felix’s mouth for a brief instant before pulling back, tugging lightly on his braid. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Moonshine.” Felix smirks down at him, a devious grin spreading across his face, and Sylvain makes a mental note to slip their cab driver a giant tip when they get dropped off, because he knows that look, the same as the one he’d had gotten back in Dorothea’s bathroom. They’ve been together long enough that Sylvain knows exactly what happens when that expression crosses Felix’s face – so hot and hungry and wanting it plucks right at the strings of Sylvain’s heart – and if they’re not careful, the chances of getting kicked out of the cab before they make it home are decidedly high.

“And…” Felix shifts purposefully on his lap, grinding the toy against Sylvain’s thigh, a soft whimper filling the space between them as he leans down to teeth a bruising mark into his neck. _“This."_

Sylvain can feel all of it: silicone pressure burning through layers of clothing and into his skin, flush and tight inside Felix’s body; the hot wash of breath across his throat; the flutter of thick lashes tickling beneath his ear; the natural sway of their bodies together as the car turns left, right, then right again. 

“Fu–uck, _Fe–”_

“All night. I’ve been so good for you all night.” Felix’s eyes are bright, vivid streaks burning into him as he brings a hand around to palm over the rising bulge in Sylvain’s jeans, the corners of his lips quirking up at the soft moan it pulls from the back of his throat. “Will you be good to me?”

Sylvain’s lips part, _yes, love_ ready on his tongue, but then his forehead is knocking into Felix’s chest as the car comes to an abrupt stop, flinging them both forward. Felix is already off his lap and out of the car, both hands tugging him along, and he nearly forgets their gifts as he dashes off to follow him, slipping the driver a handful of crinkled bills pulled from the front pocket of his jeans. 

–

When they finally make it into their flat, Felix does his best to mirror the move he’d pulled in the bathroom, fingers bruising marks into Sylvain’s shoulders at an attempt to push him up against the inside of their front door. He manages to catch Felix’s hands before they can start to pivot him around, fingers and thumbs catching easily around slim wrists, guiding them to settle low on his own hips, covering Felix’s palms with his.

“Sylvain.”

Felix is pouting again, and the mere sight of it makes Sylvain want to slow their pace; to take him apart as carefully and as lovingly as either of them can stand. Stroking a soothing thumb over the back of each hand, Sylvain leans down to nose into the perfect slope of Felix’s throat, Felix letting his head tilt back easily, a low sigh escaping from parted lips. 

“Syl _vain.”_ Felix’s pitch is a touch higher, a little needier in his throat as his palms run across Sylvain’s hips, fingers clenching down hard enough to leave little bruises through his jeans. 

“Yes, love?” Sylvain whispers into the crease of his neck over lazy butterfly kisses, gentle in all the places Felix is rough, hands skimming over the perfect curve of his ass to thumb lightly at the toy, earning an eager round of helpless whimpers. 

“Don’t _tease_ me.”

“I’m not teasing, darling. I’m taking care of you.” _Kiss, nip, kiss, repeat._

“If you want to take care of me, then _fuck me_ already.”

And God, how he wants to; wants to hoist him up and fuck him hard and fast against the door, pants pooling around their ankles in a furious flurry of teeth and nails, racing hard and fast towards the finish line. But the sweetness of tonight calls for something different, something careful and slow; pushing love into every touch, taking him apart until he’s begging, showing Felix exactly how head-over-heels stupid-in-love he is. 

Sylvain wraps his arms around Felix, taking the lead for the first time all night. They leave a trail of fabric behind as they move into their living room: Sylvain’s jacket draped over Felix’s favorite armchair; belts and shirts and boots left in a messy pile in the entryway; stray socks thrown carelessly about; until the back of Felix’s knees are hitting the edge of the couch, Sylvain following him down to seal their lips together once more.

Felix’s hands are immediately back on him, rough where they bite into his skin, insistently pulling at the collar of his sweater. Sylvain catches them again with one palm, pinning them up on the back of the couch above Felix’s head, before leaning further in to suck another kiss into his skin. Felix tosses his chin up, arching into his touch, hips bucking desperately for friction.

_“Please–”_

“I’ll fuck you, baby. Nice and slow, just like I promised,” Sylvain whispers as his other hand pushes Felix’s turtleneck up and off, tousling his already messy braid even further. It never gets old, undressing Felix; peeling back all of his hard, sharp edges, every scar and bruised kiss laid bare before him, _only_ for him.

“ _Please,_ what– what are you g-gonna do?” Felix’s voice has gone all quiet and low, a rush of heat and desire pooling in Sylvain’s belly and thighs when he pulls back from his neck to look at him, to _really_ look at him: eyes bright and begging, sharp little pants rising from parted lips, spit-slick and kiss-swollen, cheeks flushed high. 

“First, I’m gonna get you out of _these.”_

Sylvain gives the elastic waistband of Felix’s leggings a light snap, reveling in the moan it pulls from him. One hand helps him shimmy out of them while the other releases his pinned hands to stroke gently against the side of his cheek. Felix leans in to the touch, sucking Sylvain’s thumb into his mouth to teeth at it roughly, swirling his tongue around the fleshy pad. It nearly makes Sylvain snap right there, every ounce of self-restraint he’s exhibited all night put to the test by Felix’s tongue, hot and wet around him.

Sylvain breathes deeply, repeating _slow, slow, slow_ in his head as he continues his path down, trailing teasing touches as Felix shudders beneath him. They’re both hard already, leaking through their briefs, Sylvain grinding down for that perfect amount of light friction that has both of them gasping. He slips his thumb out of Felix’s mouth with a soft _pop,_ trailing it down to rub briefly at a nipple before continuing on towards his cock, the weeping head peeking out from the band of his briefs. 

“You want my mouth, baby?”

Felix gives a weak cry, legs falling open further at the brush of Sylvain’s wet thumb against the fabric of his briefs, hot breath washing over his aching cock. 

“Syl, _yes,_ need you–“

Felix’s words catch in his throat before forgetting them altogether. Instead, a wild, desperate moan falls from his lips, hot and pleading as Sylvain mouths at him through his underwear, running up and down with his tongue. Sylvain brings a hand down to tease at the shape of silicone beneath him, feeling every bit of Felix’s shudders as he grips the fabric around the plug, slowly teasing it out. 

They’ve done this a few times now, this long, hot build of pleasure – one of them spread open and aching, the other steady and soothing, the relief at the end world-shattering and all encompassing as release rips through them. It’s exquisite, watching Felix come utterly undone beneath his touch, just for him. 

When he finally releases Felix’s cock from the confines of his briefs, it falls heavy and wet against his stomach, straining up, red and angry. Sylvain removes his underwear swiftly, and then he’s pushing gently on the back of his thighs, exposing the heart-shaped plug nestled against the curve of Felix’s ass, lipstick-red silicone bright against ivory skin.

“You’re so beautiful like this, all spread out for me.”

The whimpers pouring from Felix’s red, bitten lips are the some of the sweetest Sylvain’s ever heard when he finally takes him, hard and leaking, into his mouth, suckling around the head, swirling his tongue around him, fingers resting lightly on the plug for added pressure. He drinks in Felix’s little mewls of _yes, yes_ as he sucks him hard and deep, pulling and pushing lightly on the toy stuffed in his ass, filling him up so well. When he’s running out of breath, Sylvain pulls back to tell him as much. 

“You’re doing so good.” Sylvain’s breath ghosts over Felix’s twitching cock, watching with rapt adoration as his fingers slowly, _slowly_ tease the plug out to reveal Felix’s hole, loose and slicked up with lube, fluttering and clenching down around nothing. “You’ve been good for me all night.” He drops the plug and brings his fingers down to tease at the rim with feather-light touches. “Tell me what you need, darling.”

Felix looks absolutely ravished when he tilts his head to look down at where Sylvain’s kneeling, slim legs bracketing either side of his face: cheeks flushed high and bright, a shimmering sheen of sweat coating his chest, pupils blown wide and dark where they stare down at him. Sylvain rubs the side of his cheek affectionately against Felix’s inner thigh, knowing exactly how much he secretly loves the scratchy rub of his scruff against his most sensitive parts. “Fuck, Sylvain, I– I want your mouth, please, fill me up, need you–”, words segueing into a loud cry when Sylvain licks down and around his hole, two fingers sliding home easily. 

He can _feel_ the exact moment Felix starts coming close; the little tremors that flutter up the insides of his thighs and across his belly; the way his hole starts clenching up around his two fingers every time he crooks them up into that perfect spot, the one that has Felix’s cock drooling all over his stomach and legs and Sylvain’s hand and mouth, smearing his face into a sloppy mess as he licks and sucks in him, around him, over him. Sylvain’s movements slow to a steady crawl even as Felix’s hips thrust back to fuck himself on his hand, fingers tangled tight in his hair, still desperately urging him on. 

“Fuck me already, please, Syl, I need it–”

“Yeah, I know, love, you’ve waited so long, you’ve been so good.”

When Sylvain shimmies back up the length of Felix’s body, it’s to slot their cocks together and swallow up his needy cries in a kiss that leaves them both breathless, sliding his hands under his sweat-soaked back to draw him in closer, chest-to-chest. Felix’s legs spread even further to wrap tight around the outside of his thighs, squeezing him in, heels kicking at the small of his back. 

Sylvain pulls back from a heated kiss to drop a soft one on the tip of Felix’s nose— _I‘ve got you, Fe —_ and then he’s pulling Felix flush against his chest, planting one foot on the ground for leverage as he gathers him up into his arms, limbs shaking and straining to keep steady. Felix’s face falls into his neck, teething red marks into freckled skin, fingertips finding purchase in the tops of his shoulders as Sylvain carries him towards their bedroom. 

Felix already looks beautiful and well-fucked when Sylvain deposits him down on their bed: hickies peppering his neck and chest; the ring of Sylvain’s teeth marks imprinted around one nipple; braid half-undone against their sheets. Sylvain falls over him, perched on his elbows and knees, slicking their cocks together once more with a light grind of his hips. Felix’s fingers don’t stop their rough treatment of him, pinching and bruising and scratching, teeth catching around the curve of his collarbone as he presses himself up, clinging to Sylvain in any way he can. 

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” Sylvain murmurs, distracted by the sprawling path of hands when he finally breaks away to swipe at the bottle of lube on Felix’s messy bedside table, littered with half-empty cups of water and stretched-out scrunchies. “Would you like that, Fe?”

“Yes, _y–yes,_ please–”

Sylvain will never get sick of the way they fit together; the way he slows down when he drizzles lube over both their cocks, dizzyingly hot and wet; the way he pulls Felix back from chasing his pleasure and free-falling off the edge, murmuring _hey, hey,_ stealing away those calloused fingertips to kiss each of them gently in turn.

“Can you be sweet for me?” Sylvain asks, reaching one hand down to spread Felix’s legs further apart, guiding himself to line up with his hole. The bite of crescent nails into his skin immediately loosens, Felix’s head lolling back onto the sheets, slack in his grip. 

“Yes, I’ll try, Syl, please, enough talking, _please_ –”

“I know,” he chuckles into the sweaty dip of Felix’s chest, trailing light kisses up, up, up, catching on a rosy nipple, sucking soothing little marks into his neck. “I’ve got you.”

And he _does,_ God he does. Sylvain indulges in giving Felix a few more hard tugs before he sinks deep into him, swift and steady, all at once. He doesn’t miss the curve of Felix’s back arching off the sheets, or the way Felix’s mouth falls open in a perfect moan when he bottoms out quick and easy, the lube and stretch of the plug treating them both so well. 

He already knows that neither of them are going to last long, not with the way Felix is shaking like a leaf beneath him, cock hard and red as it leaks across his stomach, how his body clenches around him so tight and good. He’s mesmerized by the dewy sweat glittering high on Felix’s cheekbones in the dark of their bedroom, the glow of neighborhood Christmas lights filtering through gauzy curtains to cast warm neon shadows across Felix’s flushed skin, watching it shine and catch in the light with every thrust he makes into him. 

“Syl, Syl _vain,_ I love you, _I love you–”_

Felix’s words lodge like arrows in his chest, like they do every time, like they always have and always will. He leans down to slot his lips against Felix’s, swallowing his love like cinnamon whisky, fucking him at a steady pace, murmuring nonsense into his ear as his teeth nip gently at his lobe – things like _you’re perfect, my heart, so good, so beautiful —_ hands capturing Felix’s own to pin him down to the mattress and make good on his earlier promise of taking him to pieces.

Felix’s body arches up into his, meeting him thrust for thrust, legs locked around the sharp jut of Sylvain’s hips where they curve into his. Felix feels so good, so tight and hot around him, and Sylvain can’t help but lean back to watch in rapt fascination at the sight of Felix below him, eyes clenched, mouth ajar, swallowing him up eagerly.

“Look at you, baby, taking me so good,” he murmurs, sliding one hand off of Felix’s wrists to feel the stretch of his hole around his own cock, watching the easy, practiced dance they’ve perfected over the years bring them both closer and closer to the edge. Felix is positively slamming his hips back, desperate as he always is for rougher, faster, harder, _more_ – so Sylvain gives it to him, working them both up to the frenzied burn they’ve been smouldering towards all night long. 

When Felix fumbles a hand loose to stroke against the side of his face, Sylvain nearly finishes right then and there – Felix’s touch gentle and adoring as he cradles Sylvain’s cheek in the palm of his hand, jarringly soft against the rough push and pull of their bodies. Felix looks like something straight out of a salacious dream when he begs _touch me, please, I’m begging you,_ and how can Sylvain even think about saying no when Felix is so vulnerable and open, asking so nicely, intimate beyond belief?

Sylvain brings his hand up, forming a loose fist and sliding up and down the length of Felix’s neglected cock. The air around them fills up with breathless little gasps, and as he gets closer, Sylvain’s world narrows down to just Felix: spread perfectly beneath him, little tracks of tears leaking from eyes shut tight, overwhelmed and so, so close. When Sylvain bends low into his neck to murmur _it’s okay, Fe, you did so well, let go for me, I wanna see you,_ Felix trembles violently in his grip, coming apart with a high mewl. His heels dig into the small of Sylvain’s back as Sylvain hits that perfect place inside him, hips fluttering and stomach spasming.

“That’s it, love, let me hear you.” He coaxes Felix through his orgasm, enraptured by the little cries that fall from his lips as he continues fucking himself on Sylvain’s cock, Felix’s come spilling out and over Sylvain’s fist and onto his stomach. After that, all it takes is a few more thrusts and one more weakly slurred plea of _S–Sylvain_ , before he’s following Felix over the edge, rolling his hips down to chase his own release.

They’re quiet in the afterglow, sweat cooling between their bodies, Sylvain’s fingertips trailing soothing touches across Felix’s bitten shoulder as he moves to rest beside him. They speak without words, in their own secret language, one of learned touches and little looks:

Felix, tugging at his wrist, bringing it up to his mouth to press tired kisses into the palm of his hand, the pad of his thumb, the knuckles of each finger. Sylvain, answering him by scooping him up, soft and sleepy in his arms, carrying him off to the warm comfort of the bath. Stubbled cheeks grazing skin as they nuzzle into each other, soothing soapy fingers over roughed-up patches of skin, proof of their love littered in the dark marks across each of their necks. The sharp press of instep to heel, shoulder blades to chest as Felix dozes off, clean and warm together in bathwater stippled with soapy bubbles.

Sylvain is half-asleep himself when he realizes the muscles in his thighs have gone numb underwater from the weight of Felix leaning into him. He soothes Felix, squirming in his arms, when he shifts to get them both out of the bath and dried off, pressing delicate little kisses to the curve of his spine as he lays him down in bed once more, pulling a blanket over his curled-up form.

Lying there in the dark, Felix looks small and peaceful, none of his typical biting sass manifested on his face, dark lashes fluttering in a dream Sylvain can only begin to guess at. It’s a side of Felix that only he is lucky enough to be allowed to see, one hard-earned throughout the years, but that just makes it all the sweeter. 

Sylvain allows himself another few moments of gazing fondly down at Felix before he pads back over to the bathroom, knowing exactly how grumpy Felix will be if they wake up in the morning and his hair is a tangled, slept-on mess. He’s busy rummaging through a drawer for a comb and extra hair ties when he sees it – the dark little velvet box, the one he’d bought after their first six months together and that has been in the back of his mind ever since.

Maybe it’s sentimentality, or maybe he’s just tired, but Sylvain reaches for the box all the same, flicking it open with his thumb. Nestled on the tiniest pillow rests a thin band of black tungsten, cut with a ribbon of rose gold running through the center. He distinctly recalls the look of shock that had passed over Claude’s face while they were out shopping (the first Christmas he’d been with Felix, before they’d ever talked about where things were going, but Sylvain had already been so, so sure) and he’d suggested stopping in the little boutique jewelry shop neither of them had ever noticed before.

Sylvain’s thumb traces over the perfect curve of the ring as his eyes flick up to Felix: stretched out on the bed; asleep and breathing in the quiet dark; the holy flesh of his chest rising and falling like ocean tides under moonglow. His whole world.

Sylvain flips the lid closed, nestles the box back in the corner of the drawer. 

Soon. Not tonight, not tomorrow, but – soon.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter [@cherryconke](https://twitter.com/cherryconke) for more sylvix nonsense!


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